


Life's Longing

by Fyre



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, An Inward Treasure, Child Death, F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-02
Updated: 2013-08-06
Packaged: 2017-12-07 07:29:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/745903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A single night has repercussions that no one anticipated.</p><p>A follow on from <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/578018/chapters/1036990">In Need of a Wife</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For those who missed it, in the Behind Closed Doors series, there was a single night where... stuff happened. Of the hurt/comfort variety. I'm pretty sure you will guess the gist of what it was throughout.

Bellamy paced back and forth across the parlour floor.

“Bay, you need to sit,” Rose said, approaching him and catching his hands. “You must calm down?”

He looked at her warily. “How can you say that? After what has happened?”

His wife’s hands were warm around his. “Because there is naught to fear.”

“Naught to fear?” he said, staring at her. “Naught? Rose, I have disgraced her!”

His wife struck him sharply on the face. “Never speak so,” she said, her voice low, an edge of danger to it. “If you believe so, then she shall also, and if she believes so, this will grieve her more than you can know.”

Bellamy sank down onto one of the chairs. “You cannot be happy in this.”

“What purpose would it serve to weep?” Rose said quietly. She sat down close to him. “It is not expected, that is true, and there will be complications, but I cannot and will not see Mingxu stricken with grief.”

Bellamy stared at their linked hands. “What if she married Rab?”

Rose’s eyes widened in astonishment. “What the devil are you suggesting?”

He looked up at her. “Rab is a bastard,” he said quietly. “He was maligned for it.”

Rose closed her eyes. “Ah.”

“At least we can make the pretence of respectability,” he said, his hands trembling about his wife’s. “I would not see her shamed. Not for the world.” Rose opened her eyes to look at him, and he asked hesitantly, “Is she… unhappy?”

A small smile touched her lips at that. “No,” she confided in a whisper. “She was shocked at first, but I do not think she could be happier.” Rose drew her chair closer to him. “I know it is not what you intended, Bay, but you are not angry?”

He laced his fingers between hers, watching their hands fold together. “I don’t know,” he admitted quietly. “Shocked, yes.”

“Alas,” Rose said with a wry smile, “you were not to know that was how babies were created.”

Bellamy made a face at her. “I am not a complete fool.”

Rose tugged on his fingers, smiling. “No, not a complete one,” she agreed. “We must talk, all of us, for this will affect you and Rab as much as it will affect Mingxu and I.” She glanced upwards, as if she could see through to the room where her lover rested. “She only needs assurance that we are still welcome here.”

Bellamy gaped at her. “She thought I would drive her out? Now?”

Rose’s shoulders lifted slightly. “She has been driven out before, Bay,” she said simply. “She fears it above all else, especially now, in a land that is not her own.”

Bellamy rose at once. “Is she in her chamber?” he said.

“The library,” Rose said, rising too. “Bay…”

“No,” he said. “I will not be doubted.” He strode towards the door, and heard his wife hurrying after him. The advantage went to him in his breeches as he raced up the staircase, and into the library. 

Mingxu turned, startled, a book in her hands. “Master Bellamy,” she said, drawing back, a wary look on her face. It seemed she was taking his breathlessness for anger. “Are you… well?”

“Aye,” he said shortly, drawing a breath. “And no more of this nonsense of imagining I will be turning you out, do you hear me?” 

She flushed, lowering her eyes. “Yes, Master Bellamy.”

He crossed the floor to her, touching her cheek, lifting her face. “Lud, woman, can you not call me Bay? Are we not friends?” He knew he was speaking with unnecessary gruffness, but otherwise, he knew he would be quite overcome with emotion.

To his dismay, her eyes brightened with tears. “Bay,” she said quietly. She almost sounded calm, but the brightness in her eyes belied it and she was trembling as if with a fever. 

Wordlessly, he stepped closer and drew her into his embrace, one hand smoothing over her dark hair. The book slipped from her hand, thumping on the floor, and she put her arms to his waist, just holding him, her whole body shivering.

“This is your home,” he whispered, his lips brushing her hair. His voice was taut, trembling near as much as she was. “Please do not doubt that, Mingxu. You and Rose belong here with us now.” He felt her arms tighten around his waist. “Do not doubt me.”

“But Rab…”

Bellamy held her fast. “We will speak with him,” he said. Rab would not forgive him for bringing a bastard into the world, but at least he would know that this child would be loved. By God, the child would be more loved than any that had come before it. He breathed out a shivering breath. Rab would not be happy, but it was too late now. Far too late. “We will speak with him,” he said again. “All of us.”

It took time to arrange the matter. 

Rab worked the land throughout the days, and with winter coming hard upon them, poachers were more daring, seeking last quarry to stockpile over the winter months. By the time Rab was done each day, he was usually fatigued beyond the telling, and often did not make it as far as the Bower. 

Bay knew better than to disturb him when he was exhausted and often bad-tempered. All the same, he put the light in his window, should Rab been wakeful and willing to come to his chamber. It felt secretive to have a sign that none other but Rab knew. The lamp was only lit when all of the wing of the house was silent, and Rab would make his way to the doors, slipping in without a sound.

Bellamy could have gone to the cabin. He tried several times, but it was impossible to know when Rab would be there and when he would be hunting down poachers and thrashing them senseless in the woods. 

The Duke was seldom merciless when it came to starving men stealing to feed their families, but lessons had to be learned, and Rab was the one to teach them. He had a broad stick and a ready fist when it was required.

The men would walk away, but they would know better than to steal on Rutherglen land, or at least to be more careful about getting caught.

It was four days after Rose confided in him that the door into Bellamy’s chamber opened. 

A waft of the night’s damp, chill air roused him where he was drowsing in his chair by the fire, and he raised his head as Rab’s cool fingers brushed his cheek.

“Is it late?” he asked in a drowsy murmur, reaching up blindly to clasp Rab’s hand.

“Very,” Rab replied. He sounded worn out, and Bellamy rose.

Rab was even more unkempt than usual, and there were bruises on one side of his face. He had one hand braced on the back of the chair, and Bellamy knew it would be cruel to drag him up to Rose and Mingxu so late, especially to tell him all that needed to be said.

“Come to bed,” he said quietly, taking his lover by the hands.

Rab followed him wordlessly. He shucked off his coat before sinking to sit on the edge of the bed as if his legs would no longer hold him up.

Bellamy knelt, stripping off his boots, then rose on his knees to help Rab undo his breeches.

“Dinnae hope for much,” Rab murmured, half-smiling, as Bellamy tugged the heavy pair of trousers down. 

Bellamy gave him a stern look, lifting the end of Rab’s shirt and peeking under it. “It’s as limp as you are tonight,” he said. “I think that says it all.” He got up, carrying the breeches and boots over to the chair by the table. “Have you slept at all in the last week?”

“Some,” Rab said, pushing himself back onto the bed with visible effort. He fell back against the pillows, his eyes closed.

Bellamy gazed at him in concern. He made his way around the room, snuffing the lamps, and returned to the bed, stripping off his own breeches and stockings before hauling the blankets from beneath Rab to cover them both.

“You work too hard,” he said, pressing his hand to Rab’s chest.

“Mm.” Rab rolled over, draping an arm and a leg over Bellamy, burying his face in Bellamy’s throat. He shifted until his was comfortable, and finally settled with his thigh half-nested between Bellamy’s and his hand tucked beneath Bellamy’s half-open shirt. 

Bellamy curved his arm, carding his fingers through Rab’s unruly hair. “Stupid bastard,” he whispered. “You’ll work yourself into an early grave.”

Rab made a dull, noncommittal sound against Bellamy’s neck, clumsily kissing the bare flesh, and his head slipped down and he started to snore.

Bellamy stroked his fingers tenderly through his lover’s hair.

At least one of them would sleep, he thought, his own mind whirling at just how badly Rab might take the news.

He must have slept eventually, for he woke to a hand on his cock, beneath his shirt. Rab’s head was still resting on his shoulder, and he had scarce moved but his hand had drifted from the collar of the shirt to the bottom, and slipped beneath.

It was no mean way to awaken, but Bellamy knew it was not the time for pleasure and fornication, not when there were important things to be discussed. He reluctantly reached down and stayed Rab’s hand.

Rab stirred, lifting his head. “No in the mood?” he asked drowsily, his eyes still hooded with sleepiness. In the half-light coming through the cracks in the curtains, he looked unkempt and lusty, like a satyr sprung to life.

“Something has happened,” Bellamy said quietly. “Something I need to speak to you about.”

Rab withdrew his hand, propping himself up on his arm. “Ye look serious,” he said, frowning. “What’s the matter?”

“It involves Rose and Mingxu also,” Bellamy said. “We should speak with them.” He started to rise, but Rab caught him by the arm, pulling him back.

“Tell me,” he said, his voice taut.

“Upstairs,” Bellamy said.

“No,” Rab said. “Here. Now. Between us.”

Bellamy subsided back down onto the bed, nodding. “Mingxu is with child,” he said quietly.

Rab’s hand fell away from his arm. “Mingxu.”

Bellamy nodded. “Aye.”

Rab sat up. He pushed his hands through his hair, mussing it even more. “Yours?”

Bellamy wet his lips and he could only nod in response.

His lover rose from the bed. “Fuck.” He walked in a compact circle on the floor, pushing his hand through his hair again. He shoved back one of the chairs, and fell into it, swearing again, under his breath.

“Rab,” Bellamy said in a whisper. “Rab, it was not intentional.”

“No,” Rab said tersely. “It never is. Christ, Bay! The lass is despised enough and now she’ll be mother to a bastard?”

“I will take care of her,” Bellamy said quietly. “And the child. You do not need to fear for that.”

Rab slumped back in the chair, breathing heavily. “You think that makes it better? That you’ll be about for the bugger?” he asked quietly. “No one’s going to forget where it came from, Bay. That the wee Chinese lass went on her back for the master. If ye think the names they call her now are bad, they’ll be worse when it becomes known.”

Bellamy looked down at his hands. “She’s happy,” he replied.

Rab propped his elbows on the arms of the chair, his face buried in his hands. “Aye,” he said, his voice dull. “She would be. Child of the man she loves? What’s no to be happy about?”

Bellamy’s hands trembled, and he crossed the floor to kneel at Rab’s feet, reaching for his lover’s hands, then hesitating, his own hands falling to his lap. “Rab, this changes nothing between us, I swear.”

Rab lowered his hands. “Does it not?” he asked, his face creased with some painful emotion. “Bay, you will be a father, as you always imagined.”

What went unsaid, Bay could hear clearly: she has given you what you wanted and that I could not.

Bellamy stared at his lover, then rose on his knees, slamming him back against the chair and kissing him with a ferocity that near drew blood as their teeth and lips crushed to one another. Out of habit, Rab grasped at him, and Bellamy felt his lover’s fingers sinking into his back, holding him with a near-desperate strength.

Bellamy clasped Rab’s head between his hands, drawing back from the kiss, panting. “Don’t you dare to doubt me, you stupid, ignorant bastard,” he hissed out through his teeth. “Do you think my head is turned because I sowed a seed elsewhere?”

“Ye don’t know what fatherhood does to a man,” Rab whispered.

“And you do?” Bellamy grasped his lover’s shirt, dragging him forward in the seat. “Don’t imagine you can predict my actions, Rab. Never imagine that.” He bared his teeth. “I am not so easily swayed as all seem to think I am.”

Rab stared at him, as if seeing something new and strange in his place. “Ye’ll be a father,” he said again.

“Aye,” Bellamy snapped. “And I’ll no be turning out the mother in the street as she seemed to believe. Or abandoning the child.” He grabbed a fistful of Rab’s hair, tilting his head back as he rose to his feet. “Do I seem like a heartless bastard? Do I seem a man who will turn aside the people who care for me one for another?” He twisted his hand and Rab winced, baring his teeth. “Do I, Rab? Do I seem so careless with those I love?”

Rab said nothing, but shook his head as much as Bellamy’s hand would allow.

Bellamy’s hand fell away, and he wheeled around, stalking to the mantle, bracing his hands against the cold marble. He was breathing raggedly, frustrated, hurt, and still damned tired. “So loved am I,” he said darkly, “that those who profess to love me fear I will reject them when matters turn complicated.”

“My father did my mother,” Rab said in the stillness that followed.

Bellamy whirled to face him. “I am not your fucking father!” he snarled. “Is that who you measure me against? Some noble who ploughed your mother and cast her aside when he had planted you in her belly?” He stormed across the room, leaning down over the chair, hands braced on the arms, his face close to Rab’s. “Do I seem like that manner of man? Do you think me that manner of man?”

Rab was staring at him as if he were a stranger. He lifted one hand to Bellamy’s cheek, and Bellamy jerked away, turning his face away.

“I am not a monster,” he whispered. “What do you, does she, see in me, to doubt me so? What have I done to make you think me cruel?”

The chair creaked, and Bellamy knew Rab must be rising.

“Bay,” Rab said quietly.

Bellamy did not turn. “What would you have of me?” he asked, his voice dull and flat in his own ears. “I have given you all that I am, promised you every part of me. I have nothing left, Rab.”

He almost flinched away when Rab’s hands touched his shoulders. Lightly, too, as if he feared scaring or hurting him.

“Forgiveness?” Rab said quietly. His hands squeezed slowly, and Rab pressed his lips to the back of Bellamy’s neck. “I never thought, Bay,” he whispered, pressing his cheek to Bellamy’s hair. “I’m a fucking idiot.”

Bellamy tilted his head back to look up at the ceiling, blinking hard. “Aye,” he whispered, his throat near closing on the words. The tears were hot on his cheeks. “Everything I have done, I have done to make you and papa and Rose and everyone about me happy.”

Rab’s hands slipped down his arms and Rab embraced him, drawing him back, closer. “Ye have,” he agreed in a whisper. “And ye’ve reminded me yet again that we dinnae appreciate ye half as much as we should.”

Bellamy squeezed his eyes shut, turning his face away when Rab nuzzled his cheek. 

“I’m sorry.” Rab’s voice was soft against his ear. “I’m sorry I’m a stupid bastard. I’m sorry I lumped you in with people like my old man.”

“You’ve known me my whole life, Rab,” Bellamy whispered. “I’ve loved you for more than twenty years.” He took a quivering breath. “Have I ever done anything to hurt you? Have I ever doubted you?”

Rab’s hand pressed over Bellamy’s heart. “No,” he said quietly. “But you’re a better man than I am, Bay.”

Bellamy pushed Rab’s arms apart. “I need air,” he said, crossing the floor and pulling on the first breeches that he could find in his garderobe. He drew a breath, swallowed hard. “You should talk to Mingxu.” His mouth felt dry and his voice hoarse. “You both have… plenty of concerns to discuss, I imagine.” 

“Bay-”

“No.” Bellamy sat to lace his stockings, not looking at Rab. “Before we proceed, you should both decide if it will be beneficial for this child to have me as a father.” He brushed his knuckles across his cheek. “After all, you both seem to think otherwise.”

“Bay!” Rab protested, crossing the floor and grasping at his shoulder.

Bellamy recoiled, jerking away from him, hands upraised. “No,” he said, pushing a hand through his hair. “No. You permitted this. As did she. I will deal with the repercussions, but I will not be rebuked for sins I have not and will not commit.”

Rab stared at him, stricken. “I spoke out of turn,” he said.

“Aye,” Bellamy whispered. “But that does not matter. What matters is that you spoke.” He pushed his feet into his shoes, and tucked his shirt into his breeches. “I will be out for air.” He pointed a shaking finger at Rab. “Do not follow me.”

He headed out into the dim morning light, and stood there in silence for a moment. No one came after him, and he could not be sure if he was more relieved and distressed by that.

He walked.

He had no destination, nowhere to be.

He simply walked and walked, until his stockings were sodden from the overnight rains, and his breeches were clinging to his legs. He walked on and on until he found himself on the back steps of Westfell.

For one raised in the halls, he knew his way well enough without disturbing the staff or his family, and he made his way to his old chambers. They were still maintained, for no real reason, and he slipped into the room silently, closing the door behind him. 

It was only when he sat down on the end of the bed, burying his head in his hands, that he became aware of the scent of fresh pipe smoke. His heart lurched painfully, and he raised his head, then forced himself to sit up straighter at the sight of his father, standing by the doors, pipe in hand, his expression grave.

“I didn’t see you there, father,” he said.

“So I noticed,” the Duke of Rutherglen murmured.

Bellamy’s hands clasped into fists on his thighs. He was damned near forty years old, and yet his father could make him feel like a child caught stealing. “Why are you in my rooms?”

His father tilted the pipe to examine the contents, then puffed once, twice, then frowned at it. “I might ask you the same thing,” he said. He wandered over to the fireplace, knocking the ash and cinders out of his pipe. “As I recall, you are a man wed and settled elsewhere.”

“I am,” Bellamy whispered.

His father took his time refilling his pipe, half-turned away from him. “Yet here you are, sodden and mud-stained and looking as if your world has broken about you.”

Bellamy did not wish to weep, nor did he wish to disturb his father, but his heart was aching and he was so very tired. His fingers curled into his breeches and he could feel his nails press into his thighs. “Miss Fei is with child,” he whispered.

His father turned, surprised, his pipe aglow. “What is that to you?” The lines in his face deepened in a forbidding scowl. “Did Rab…?”

“No!” Bellamy exclaimed, flushing. “No, papa. Rab did nothing.”

His father’s frown deepened. “Then who?”

Bellamy’s throat closed rebelliously and he could only gesture to himself, lowering his eyes.

His father choked on his pipe, coughing violently. “Lud, Bay! How the deuce did you do that?”

For the first time since Rab had woken, Bellamy’s lips twitched helplessly, and he looked up, his vision blurred and hot. “The usual way,” he said, only a little hoarsely. 

His father motioned to the chairs. “Over here, my lad,” he said. “Now.”

Bellamy felt no need to refuse, and made his way over to sit facing his father. The Duke sprawled down into one of the other seats, watching him, smoking wreathing about him like a dragon’s den. 

“Now, tell me,” his father said curtly, “what the devil has been happening in your happy little household?”

It was pointless to lie, though Bellamy skirted some aspects of the truth carefully. His father did not need to know of the night when he, his lover, his wife, and her mistress had spent their time together. It was indecent and improper, and it had no bearing save that it had resulted in the child Mingxu was now carrying.

He explained as much as he could, without meeting his father’s eyes, and fell silent once he had summed up the meat of his conversation with Rab only hours earlier. 

His father set his pipe down upon the table beside him with such care that Bellamy dared to look at him. The Duke’s face was taut with fury.

“I’ll thrash the ungrateful little bastard,” he snarled. 

“Papa,” Bellamy protested, raising a hand.

“No,” the Duke snapped. “How dare he say such things of you? You, who have done nothing but protect and care for him for all these years!” He surged to his feet, silver hair loose about his face in his rage, and he grabbed one of the ornamental pots from the mantle, hurling it into the fireplace. “That son of a whore goes too far!” 

“Papa!” Bellamy leapt up, grabbing his father’s arm. “Enough!”

His father bared his teeth. “I am to stand by and see my son insulted? By a street brat I have taken in and protected?”

“And beating him would improve matters?” Bellamy demanded hotly. “Papa, he’s not that child anymore!”

“He’s still a bastard!” His father’s eyes were blazing. “I’ll take my damned cudgel to his head for this!”

“The devil you will!” Bellamy snarled. “The offence was done to me. I will repay it.” He grabbed his father’s arm - so much thinner than it used to be - and held fast. “You will do nothing to him, do you hear me, father?”

His father stared at him, searching his features. “If that’s your wish,” he said, his breathing unsteady. “I’ll do as you ask.” He reached up his free arm, drawing Bellamy’s head down, until their brows rested against one another. “I wouldn’t see you hurt, Bay. You know that.”

Bellamy clasped his arm, squeezing. “I know, papa,” he said. He tried to smile, but it did not come easily. “His own parentage troubles him. I know…” He breathed in, deep and fortifying. “He meant no harm by what he said.”

“Yet the fact he said it shows the thought was there,” his father observed, releasing him, and sinking back down into one of the chairs.

“Aye.” Bellamy dragged the other chair closer and fell down into it. “Are all people of our station bastards, papa? Is that why it is so easy for them to doubt us?”

His father snorted. “You’d best ask someone who hasn’t been known for foolishness and violent outbursts,” he said wryly. “I’m not the best example to look to.” He leaned over the space between them and clasped Bellamy’s hand. “Never let anyone tell you that you are, Bay. You’re the best man I’ve known in all my life.”

Bellamy’s features warmed. “Papa,” he said uncomfortably.

“You know I don’t waste words,” his father said, squeezing his hand and sitting back. “Why would I lie now? You’re a good man, a good son, a good husband, and I know that you will be a demmed good father, when this brat of yours is born.”

Bellamy felt like a millstone had been lifted from about his neck. “You think so?” he asked, his voice sounding so much younger than his years. He had not realised, not until the words were said, how much Rab and Mingxu’s responses had weighted his self-doubt. How could he believe himself to be a good father, if they did not believe he would be?

“Millie, Thomas, and wee Jamie would agree,” his father said without hesitation. “You have a way with children, Bay. It’ll be different with your own, but I have no doubt you’ll be a far better father than I was too you.”

“Papa,” Bellamy protested quietly.

“Hush, my boy,” his father murmured. “I was not terrible, but I was far from good.”

“You loved me,” Bellamy said, his voice low. “That’s more than some have.”

His father smiled briefly, sadly. “Aye,” he said quietly. “Tis true.” He looked at Bellamy, his expression solemn. “What are you going to do? About Rab? Mingxu? All of it?”

Bellamy shook his head. “I have no idea,” he said in a whisper. “I only know I will be a father.” He laughed unsteadily. “Lud, papa, of all the times for it to all go wrong…”

His father rose, offering him a hand, and Bellamy was hauled to his feet, and into his father’s embrace. His eyes felt hot and wet once more and he clung to his father like a child.

“It’s always darkest before the dawn, Bay,” the Duke said quietly. “Never forget that.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be advised that this chapter may be considered distressing, as it deals with the subject of infant mortality in the Georgian period, and within the Rutherglen family.

For the first time in months, Bellamy took breakfast with his direct family only.

It was fortunate that some of his clothing had been left at the house, so he was not entirely dishevelled when he joined them in the breakfast room. Mama Belle looked at him in concern, but knew better than to ask in front of the children. 

Bellamy found himself planted neatly between Millie and Thomas, at Millie's behest. She chattered eagerly to him about all the exciting books she had been reading, while Thomas nodded in solemn agreement. Quite where they had found such a grave little boy, Bellamy had no notion, but even his presence eased the painful knot bound up about Bellamy's heart.

"Your face is hairy, Bay," Wee Jamie said suddenly, pointing a spoon at Bellamy. "Why is your face hairy?"

"Because he came over here so early," Mama Belle intervened, leaning down to speak to her youngest son, "because he was so excited to see you. He did not have time to shave before that."

Wee Jamie's face lit up. "You went hairy to see us?"

Bellamy shot a grateful look at Mama Belle. "I did indeed," he said, wondering how terrible he must look, bestubbled and ungroomed. "I hardly even had time to brush my hair, I was in such a hurry to be here to see you all."

Millie leaned over comfortingly to pat his arm. "I'll brush your hair for you," she said, "when we finish breakfast. You look silly."

"I'll come too," Thomas added shyly.

As devoted as Millie was to Bellamy, Thomas always seemed overawed by his elder brother.

Bellamy looked from one to the other. "You can help me tie my cravat."

"Lud," his father snorted in gentle amusement. "You would imagine you would be capable of that by now."

"I may be, but they are not," Bellamy said mildly. "One must teach them, since you shall not."

The Duke chuckled, raising his teacup in acknowledgement. "Indeed," he said. "Damned fripperies."

"Jamie," Belle chastised with a small smile. 

"Forgive me," his father said to his wife without shame. He turned solemnly to the children, who were giggling. "Your papa is a very rude man, and you must not say such things."

"You know that will never hold," Bellamy murmured, remembering how often he had received the rod at school for his choice profanities learned from his father. His father inclined his head. Bellamy looked from Thomas to Millie and back. "Learn well, little ones. Do not use papa's words in polite company."

Millie grinned. "I did."

"Heaven preserve us," Belle groaned.

The rest of breakfast was spent with the little ones watching their father get a stern telling off, until the nurse came into the room, seeking Mama Belle. Little Margaret was ill again, and Belle rose at once, hurrying away, leaving wee Jamie in the care of his father.

"Come with me, Bay," Millie said, grasping Bellamy's hand. "We can go now. Papa will be busy with Jamie."

Bellamy allowed them to lead him through the house. He was halfway up the stairs when Grandmama Regina came back into the house. He saw her brow furrow in concern at his appearance and he called down, "Speak to father." The children did not allow him more than that, hauling him onwards.

They had grown so much. The top of Millie's head was almost at his shoulder. Biology, it seemed, was playing her kindly, for she was going to surpass her mother easily. They were as different as chalk and cheese, Millie and Thomas. Where she was dark and laughing, Thomas was tawny and solemn. Where she was blue-eyed, Thomas was brown. Where she led, Thomas followed.

Bellamy was guided to the couch in the nursery and Millie scrambled up beside him, giving orders to her brother, who brought over her brush and comb. Thomas sat down on a cushion at Bellamy's feet, watching gravely as his sister set to work on Bellamy's hair. 

"You look sad," he observed quietly. 

Bellamy looked down at the child who had his father's eyes. "A little," he said, wondering if his child would be like him, or if it - he or she - would take after Mingxu. Perhaps there would be some of each of them. Perhaps it would look wholly Chinese, and he would have no part at all. 

Millie put her arms around him. "Why are you sad, Bay?"

"It is no matter," he said quietly.

"But you musn't be sad," Thomas said, kneeling up. "Was someone bad to you?"

Bellamy shook his head, lowering his eyes. "Someone just said something foolish," he murmured.

"Was it Mr Graham?" Millie said, taking up her brush and starting on his hair again. "Mr Graham says lots of silly things."

Bellamy's smile was brief and unconvincing even to himself. "Yes," he said. "He did not think before he spoke."

"Do you want me to go and tell him?" Thomas said, looking up, earnest and grave. 

Bellamy's eyes pricked. If Thomas was shy of him, he was quite terrified by the hairy ruffian that was Rab. "You need not do that, Thomas," he said softly, offering his hands to his younger brother. Thomas rose and climbed up into his lap, leaning against Bellamy's chest. "It was very brave of you to offer."

"You should be happy," his brother whispered. 

"I would that I was," Bellamy murmured, putting his arms around the boy. He was going to be as slight as their father, bones as light as a bird. 

"What did he say?" Millie asked, propping her chin on his shoulder. 

Bellamy's throat felt it was closing up once more. "Only foolishness."

"Did he mean it?" Millie asked. "Did he know he was going to make you sad?"

Bellamy shook his head. "He was thinking of people who made him sad," he murmured. "He wasn't thinking about me at all."

"Then he didn't mean it," Millie declared.

"It is not so simple," Bellamy said.

"Why?" Thomas asked.

Bellamy looked down at the boy. It had all seemed so plain: Rab had compared him to his only experience of a father, a terrible man who had scarce even acknowledged his son. "Because he thought I would make him sad like the people did before."

"That's silly," Millie said, sitting on the back of the couch and working on his tangled hair. "Everyone knows you don't make anyone sad."

"Except you," Thomas added, looking up at him. The boy reached up and touched Bellamy's cheek carefully. "You should be happy too."

Bellamy wrapped his arms around his brother, dropping a kiss on Thomas's tawny hair. "You make me happy, Tom," he said softly. "You and Millie both do." 

Millie propped her chin on his shoulder. "I think I should go and tell Mr Graham that he made you sad." She returned her attention to his hair. "It's not fair that he makes you sad and then doesn't make it better. If you make someone sad, you should be the one to make them happy too."

Bellamy wished matters were so simple.

He could understand Rab's fears, yet to have them turned on him, as if he might become some fiendish noble, after everything they had suffered through…

Rab's father would not have ridden the length of the country to be with him when he was close to death in his sick bed. Rab's father would not have trusted him with his fears and cares. Rab's father would not have loved him regardless of fault or foolishness. 

Rab's father, he decided, was an imbecile.

And Rab’s father would have beaten him for all that he had said this morn.

Bellamy pressed his cheek to Thomas’s hair.

He was not Rab’s father.

That was why he would always go back, and cherish the man that others had cast aside.

 

_____________________________________________________

 

It was close upon noon when Bellamy was called forth from the playroom.

His father came to fetch him, bearing wee Jamie on his hip, the little boy clearly just waking from a nap. Mama Belle was there too, their youngest child resting in her arms. She was murmuring to the baby softly.

"You have a guest, Bay," the Duke said.

Bellamy waited until Thomas finished tying his cravat, then raised his eyes. "Who is it?"

"A lady who has more sense than most," his father replied, setting Jamie down to toddle into the playroom. He offered his arms and Mama Belle gently laid Margaret in them. She looked drawn and tired. "Your mother will take you down."

Bellamy nodded, rising. He approached his father to look down at his newest sister. The child was not sleeping, but neither was she truly awake and aware. She was a small, pale little thing, without any of Millie's resilience or wee Jamie's vigour.

He looked to his father, who shook his head, then nodded to Mama Belle. Bellamy offered Mama Belle his arm. She leaned on him a little more heavily than he expected, and only when he looked closely did he see the faint lines of worry and exhaustion etched around her eyes. As they made their way down the halls, he murmured, "Father wants you to rest."

"Your father wants many things," she said quietly. "Not all of them come to pass."

Bellamy's heart ached for her. "Margot does not improve?"

Mama Belle looked down to the floor. "No." She drew an unsteady breath. "Bay, I know Rab has spoken foolishly, but do not let that end what is between you." She raised her eyes to his and they were bright with tears. "Love him, Bay, as long as you can."

Bellamy drew her about to face him and knew what was going unsaid. He drew Mama Belle into his arms and held her fast. "And I come bearing the tidings I have," he whispered, ashamed. "Mama, I had no notion she was so unwell, and I come here, lamenting the coming of a child."

"Never mourn it, Bay," she whispered, her cheek pressed to his shoulder. "For my sake, and your father's, do not mourn." 

"How long?" he asked quietly.

Belle shook her head. "We do not know," she said. "She grows weaker by the day. We do not know what to tell the children."

Bellamy drew back, looking down at her. "No wonder father raged so this morning," he said quietly.

"He feels helpless," Belle admitted. "You gave him something - someone - he could lash out at." She brushed a hand to her cheeks. A faint smile crossed her lips, drawn. "But enough of grief, Bay. Margot continues to wake each morning. The children need not be troubled by it. And you..." She lifted her hand to his cheek. "You will be a father."

"Aye," he agreed quietly. "Lud, mama. I did not predict this might happen."

She threaded her arm through his once more. "You are not unhappy?"

"I have no notion what I should feel," he confessed quietly. 

Belle nodded, as they descended the stairs. "It must have come as a shock," she murmured.

Bellamy nodded. "I believe you have understated the matter," he said. "Mama, I used to imagine being a father. I never thought it might happen." They stopped at the foot of the stairs and he looked at her. "I think I might be happy. Terrified of what will come, but I think it may be possible that I am happy."

She rose on her toes and kissed him softly on the cheek. "If you are as good a father as you are a son, your child will be the most fortunate in the land."

Bellamy wrapped his arms about her and embraced her tightly. "I love you, mama," he whispered.

She nodded against his shoulder, holding him tightly. "Come," she said, her voice roughened with emotion. "Your wife is waiting for you." She drew back and took his hand, leading him down to the parlour. She paused outside the door. "You will excuse me? Your father is right. I need to rest. I have scarce slept in days."

Bellamy nodded. "I will try to visit more often," he said quietly. "If you need the children to be diverted, you can send them to stay with us."

"I will keep that in mind," his stepmother said, squeezing his hand. "Be well, Bay."

He watched her make her way back towards the stairs, then entered the parlour. He was unsurprised to find that Regina was sitting with Rose, talking quietly. Both women looked around at him, rising from their seats.

"Bay," Rose said softly. 

He approached, bowing slightly. "Forgive my absence at breakfast," he said, keeping his voice steady only by will. "I had a need to be elsewhere."

"Understandably so," she replied. She offered a gracious curtsey to Regina. "If you will excuse us, my Lady, I must steal my husband away."

Regina inclined her head, looking in concern at Bellamy. "If my grandson so wishes."

Bellamy nodded. The tribulations of his parents had made his own seem small by comparison. "I would go home," he murmured. He offered Rose his arm and she took it at once, searching his features. 

Rather than go back through the house, he led her through the French doors and onto the terrace, thence down the staircase.

"Rab spoke to you," he murmured.

"He would have come himself," Rose replied quietly, "but for poachers sighted in the forest."

Bellamy nodded. "It is all a mess," he said in a whisper. 

Rose leaned against his arm. "When something so vast and so unexpected happens, people do foolish things," she said quietly. "They think and fear the worst from their own experience." Her hand found his and her fingers were pale and cold. "Regina told me of little Margot."

"Mother and father are both exhausted," he said quietly. "I have offered that we will care for the little ones, if need be."

"Of course," Rose murmured. "How unfortunate that we should bring such tidings of our own now."

He nodded mutely as they walked back towards the Bower. They were silent for a long while, the only sound the rush of Rose's skirts against the grass. 

Finally, he drew her to a halt, looking at her, her hand clasped in his. "You are so calm," he said, searching her face. "Is this all so simple for you? Or are you only better at hiding your feelings than I?"

Rose met his eyes. "Do you truly wish to know?" she said, her expression unreadable. "When your sister is sick? When your parents are grieving and exhausted? When your lover is afraid he has driven you from him? When my lover is both overjoyed and terrified? Do you want to add to those burdens?"

"So there is a burden?" he murmured.

She looked down at their joined hands. "Bay, the woman I love, the only woman I have loved, is with child. Do you think I do not fear that I will no longer be what she desires? That she will put me aside?" She raised her eyes to his face. "I am afraid. It is like ice in my heart." She released an unsteady breath. "But I cannot allow it to rule me. I know that Mingxu loves me as I love her. I know we have been through too much for her to do what I fear." She turned Bellamy's hand over in hers. "It does not stop the fear from being present, but I see no reason to trouble her with it." Her gaze held his. "We all have fears. How we deal with them is the matter."

He averted his eyes and they started walking once more.

"I suppose running away to my parents was not the most dignified response," he admitted.

"Sometimes it is the wisest course," she said. "You needed time to think. Better than responding in anger."

"Father wanted to beat Rab on my behalf," Bellamy murmured. 

"Rab is often inclined to speak without thinking," Rose said. "He knows he cut you deeply, Bay."

"I know." Bellamy looked ahead. The Bower was almost visible through the trees. "But I am not fool enough to let it cut us apart." He felt Rose's hand squeeze his comfortingly. They were silent once more, simply friends walking together. She knew him well enough, and he her. 

The door of the Bower was opened for them, one of the servants to hand.

"Will you join Mingxu and I?" Rose asked quietly.

Bellamy hesitated. "Shortly," he said. "I will come upstairs in half an hour. I need to gather my thoughts."

She patted his arm. "We shall have something to eat when you come," she said. 

Bellamy nodded, then withdrew to his chamber.

He closed the door behind him, spreading one hand on the panelling, and resting his brow against the back of the door. The weight of grief from his parents hung upon him, and he wished Rab were there that he could lean upon him and hold himself upright. Rab was his strength when he felt himself quailing, and for what was to come, he knew he would need him more than ever.

It was with effort that he made his way across the room and changed himself into more suitable clothing. He did so without thought, dressing and tying his cravat blindly. 

It was all so much. To become a father but to lose a sister. To hide his own fears while acknowledging the fears of other. To love a man while wanting to strike him for being such a damned fool. To feel he was failing all around him even while he tried to hold them all together. 

 

___________________________________________________________

 

It was over half an hour by the time he ascended the main stairs, rather than their private staircase.

The door was ajar in invitation, and he could hear Rose and Mingxu talking softly.

Bellamy drew himself up and rapped lightly on the door.

"Come!" Rose called.

They were sitting by the table which had been placed by the window, overlooking the grounds. Bellamy's heels tapped on the wooden floor as he entered and bowed formally to each of them. Mingxu looked up at him with concern, rising from her seat.

"Bay," she said gravely. "I am sorry to hear of your news."

Bellamy's throat closed up rebelliously, but he had wit enough to cross the floor and bow over her hand. "Thank you," was all he could think to say. He waited until she sat before taking the third seat at the table, watching her cautiously. "Are you well?"

"Better than anticipated," she said. She laid her hand over her stomach. "I have been fortunate."

"That is well," Bellamy murmured. His words felt stilted. "I am sorry today has been so disrupted."

Mingxu darted a look at Rose, then inclined her head. Rose nodded, rising, and withdrew, leaving Bellamy sitting alone with the mother of his child.

"Forgive me," she said.

Bellamy looked at her in weary confusion. "What?"

Mingxu turned her chair to face him. "You have been distressed by my words and by Rab's," she said. "I am sorry it is so." She leaned forward, taking one of his hands between hers and holding it. Her fingers were callused and slender around his. "We have scars, he and I. Not all of them are visible."

Bellamy looked up at her, too tired and drawn with sorrow to hide behind masks and pretence. "You thought I would cast you out. You, whom I have called family."

Mingxu's hands trembled around his, but she held his hand fast. "My family." She breathed unsteadily in then out. "When they believed I was put to my back by my master - Rose's father - they subdued me and turned me over to the officers of the law. I was... treated unkindly." She looked from their hands to his face. "They were my flesh and blood, Bay. My family. If my own blood would do that..."

Bellamy's mouth was dry. "The cause of your nightmares? Your scars?"

Mingxu nodded solemnly. "Your kindness has undone some of their brutality," she said, "but it can never wholly be undone. Just as Rab cannot forget what was done to his mother." Her hands squeezed his. "We shall always fear and we shall always doubt, but it is not you. It is the shadows of those who stand behind us."

Bellamy nodded, curling his fingers around hers. He bowed over her hands, feeling so drained and weary and hearing such words from her, was comfort he could not have imagined. She bent over him too, pressing her brow to his crown. 

"Forgive us, Bay," she whispered. "Forgive us our spectres and scars. We did not mean to wound you."

He shivered with emotion, the grief at what they had suffered, the understanding of how it yet troubled them. He pressed a kiss to the back of her small hands, and lifted his head to look at her. "Thank you," he said quietly, "for trusting me with such knowledge. I did not understand before."

Her expression was as calm as ever, but her eyes were bright. "We are family, Bay. True family."

He nodded wordlessly, freeing one of his hands. "May I?" he asked, and she nodded, guiding his hand to her belly. The swell of their coming child was palpable already. More than four moons had passed since the summer night that had changed everything and nothing, and soon, she would be round with it. "What would you do?"

She shook her head, her hand over his on her belly. "I only want it to be well and safe," she said quietly. "You can acknowledge it or deny it if you choose."

Bellamy spread his fingers, her belly so small beneath his hand. "It will be my child," he said just as softly. "I will not deny that." 

The smile that crossed her face was brighter than any he had seen before. It was fleeting as lightning splitting the summer sky, and her expression was once more the solemn one he knew. "I am pleased," she confided, gently released his hand. "I know you shall care."

He sat back, nodding. "I will," he promised. "For you and our child. You shall be loved and you shall be safe. None will harm you again." He tried to smile, but it was bittersweet with the thought of his own kin. "And if any does, our little one will have the fiercest defenders north of the border."

Mingxu's expression softened and she cupped her hands over her belly. "We will all protect it." She got up, her robes settling, and went to the door, calling Rose back in. Bellamy's wife looked between them, to be sure that there was peace, before she returned to her seat.

"Now," she with a stern look at Bellamy. "You will eat, then you will get some sleep. I have been told you hardly slept last night."

Bellamy's lips twitched wryly. "Do I have no say in the matter?"

"None at all," Rose replied. "You look like pale as a ghost, and I'm sure I will earn no one's gratitude if you swoon like a damsel." She poured a cup of tea and pushed it towards him, along with a plate of pastries. "Now, will you eat?"

Bellamy grudgingly picked up one of the pastries from the platter. "You fuss so," he said.

She offered him a smile. "Yes," she said. "Because I am your wife."

He complied, listening to Rose and Mingxu talking. Occasionally, he added some little comment to the conversation, but for the most part, his mind was picking over all that he had learned throughout the day. That even the past could still have such a merciless hold on an unwilling subject.

When Rose took him by the arm and all but hauled him down the stairs, he felt no compunction to resist, and he scarcely had the energy to shed his shoes and housecoat before falling onto the bed, burying his face in the pillow. He felt his wife smooth his hair, and distantly heard the sound of the door closing as she left him. 

He was woken, hours later, by the crack of thunder overhead.

Rain was battering against the windows and the black stormclouds made the world dark.

Bellamy pushed himself groggily from the bed, stumbling to the window and looking out. 

Winter was coming in truth, and leaves torn from the trees gusted across the grounds. It was already well beyond sundown, and a glance at the clock told him it was late in the afternoon, verging on evening. He groped blindly for his tinder box, sparking a taper, and lit the lamp in the window, a sign to his lover that he was not unwelcome. 

With the taper still glowing, he crossed the gloomy room to sit down by the fireplace. The maid had not been in to light a fire, but Bellamy felt no need to have it lit. He filled his pipe and lit it with the taper, but had scarce taken two puffs of smoke when the door opened from the miserable outdoors.

The blast of cold winter air made him shiver, and the door slammed behind the shape that had stepped through. 

The scent of blood and rain and dirt followed him.

Rab.

He was wearing his oiled coat against the wind, looking larger and more savage than it seemed possible. He crossed the floor before Bellamy could think to rise, and fell to his knees, pressing his cheek to Bellamy’s thigh, breathing hard, as if he had run a great distance. 

Bellamy’s pipe fell from his hand, clattering on the floor, and he buried his fingers in Rab’s soaked hair.

“Rab,” he whispered hoarsely.

Rab raised his face, his features outlined by the faint light cast by the lamp. There was blood on his skin, scratches and bruises, and he searched Bellamy’s face with an urgency that stole Bellamy’s breath away. 

“Bay…” His voice was a guttural growl, and Bellamy knew what he was going to say, and an apology was the last thing that Rab needed to make, not after his whole life had been turned about and left wretched at a selfish noble’s whim.

Bellamy stopped Rab’s lips with his fingers. “Your father was a backbirth and a fool,” he whispered. “I promise I will never do to you or my child as he did to you.” He felt the heat of Rab’s startled exhalation against his fingertips. “I love you.”

Rab rose on his knees, soundless, and pulled Bellamy forward in the chair, taking him in his arms and holding him fast. Bellamy’s arms slid under the heavy, wet coat and he could feel the heat of Rab’s body against his, the rapid patter of his heart, and he held him all the tighter, knowing just how precious he was.


	3. Chapter 3

Rab was asleep in Bellamy’s arms.

Each night since the revelation about Mingxu’s gravid state, Rab had come to him. It was not out of doubt of Bellamy’s fidelity. Bellamy understood that now. It was borne from Rab’s own fears of being left behind once more, and for his part, Bellamy was happy to hold him through the night.

Rab always slept solidly.

It was the nature of the man: he would work until he was exhausted, and the moment he was abed and his eyes closed, he would sleep. Bellamy envied him that. 

For days now, the family had been on tenterhooks regarding little Margot. Her condition had worsened day by day, and the physicians his father had summoned from town had been unable to help. 

Mama Belle would not leave the child’s bedside, and his father divided his time between his wife and their other children. 

The Dowager Duchess was tending them as best she could, but all three knew something was amiss. Little Thomas was old enough to remember his mother’s grief at the stillborn daughter who had come some years after him. Regina was worried about him most of all, for he had stopped speaking.

“What’re ye thinkin’?” Rab’s voice was a sleepy murmur against his chest.

Bellamy opened his eyes, surprised. “I didn’t know you were awake.”

Rab rubbed his cheek against Bellamy’s chest and he yawned, dragging up the arm flung loosely over Bellamy’s waist. “I can tell,” he murmured. “When yer asleep, ye breathe softer.” He lifted his head and looked up at Bellamy. “Somethin’s troublin’ ye?”

“The children,” Bellamy admitted quietly. “Grandmama is worried.” He raked his fingers through Rab’s hair, curling his fingertips down the back of Rab’s neck. “I wonder if it might be a mercy to have them come here to stay until…” He trailed off, unwilling to speak for fear of bringing forward the inevitable. 

Rab pulled himself further up the bed, until their faces were level, and he was propped on one arm over Bellamy. “I think Master Jamie would appreciate it,” he said plainly. “The wee ones dinnae need to be dealing with death so young.” He rested his brow to Bellamy’s, and Bellamy closed his eyes, his other arm wrapping about Rab’s shoulders, his strength when he felt he might falter. “Millie will fight ye. She’ll want to be helping her Grace.”

“She can want,” Bellamy said quietly. “Seeing my mother’s body laid out is a sight I wish had gone unseen.” He opened his eyes and looked up at Rab by the dim light of coming dawn. “None of them should see Margot like that. Better they remember her for the few smiles and the blue eyes. Not stillness like a waxwork.”

Rab nodded, leaning down to kiss him gently. “If ye need diversion for them, ye know where I might be found,” he said. He glanced reluctantly towards the window. “But if the morn is coming, I must be away for now.”

Bellamy nodded, drawing his arms down, his hands lingering briefly on Rab’s shoulders. He breathed in, then out. “If the wee ones come,” he said, “the lantern will have to be out for a time at least.”

Rab kissed him again, just as softly. “Aye,” he said. “The wee ones have to come first now. I willnae begrudge them that.” A brief flicker of a smile crossed his lips. “But that disnae mean I won’t watch for the light in the darkness.”

“Sentimental bastard,” Bellamy murmured, as Rab swung himself over to the side of the bed, pushing back the covers.

Rab looked over his shoulder. “Sometimes,” he agreed.

Bellamy propped himself up on one arm, watching Rab dress in the half light. “The children might like to see the woods,” he murmured. “Something of a distraction for them, while Westfell is shrouded.”

Rab looked up from lacing his breeches, a knowing glint in his eye. “Ye’d be happy enough to walk so close? When we cannae touch?”

“You know I’m happy enough just to see you,” Bellamy replied quietly. “Especially now.”

Rab crossed the floor in three paces and bent to claim Bellamy’s lips in a kiss, his hand cupping the back of Bellamy’s head. “We’ll have time enough when all these troubles are by wi’,” he murmured. “But if ye need me, call upon me and I’ll come.”

Bellamy brushed his hand along Rab’s arm. “I will,” he whispered.

He fell back among the pillows, and watched as Rab donned the last of his clothes, and vanished out into the half-light of the coming dawn. Winter was a merciful time, for the day began late and they had longer together than they otherwise might.

In the darkness, he ran both hands over his face.

It was a trial, to be so close to the man who was his rock and anchor, and yet, to have to hide it from the youngest of his kin. Especially in such difficult times, it hurt to be unable to reach out and take comfort from the man whom he loved.

The footfalls of the servants abroad in the house stirred him eventually, and he rose, dressing, to join his wife and Mingxu for breakfast. The dining room was usually the first dealt with in the morning, to ensure the November chill, so by the time he entered, the fire was dancing in the grate and the table was laid.

To his surprise, Rose was already there, nursing a cup of tea.

“My Lady.”

She looked up with a wan smile, but made no move to rise. “Good morning.”

He looked around, worried. “Mingxu is not unwell, I hope?”

A brief grimace flicked across her face. “Her sleep was a little troubled,” she admitted, “but she will join us shortly.”

He did not need to ask further. It came as no surprise that as Rab’s past troubled him, Mingxu’s was crueller still. Her nightmares of the ordeal, orchestrated by her own family, still weighed heavily upon her, moreso now in a land where she was pregnant with her mistress’s husband’s bastard. She feared being abandoned, and though she could reason well when awake, in her dreams, her fears took hold. 

He took his seat at the table. “I fear I have an inopportune matter to raise, then,” he said.

Rose looked at him inquisitively over the rim of her cup. “What’s the matter?”

“I had suggested to my father that we take charge of the children, while…” He faltered, clearing his throat. “Mama Belle is much occupied and I have no doubt that a child’s sickbed is the last place the other children should be.”

Rose set down her cup. “I think that is the perfect solution,” she admitted. “Mingxu does not know the little ones well, but they are to be her kin too. Perhaps it will help push back some of her fears if there are more hands willing to hold hers.”

“That was my thought also,” Bay admitted.

Much to his relief, when Mingxu joined them, she listened gravely to his suggestion, then nodded at once. “It is ill-fortune to have a child at another’s deathbed,” she said. “It is better for them to be in a house without sickness.”

“They may be distressed,” he cautioned.

“It is permitted to be so,” Mingxu said quietly. “The loss of a loved one, even one they do not know well will frighten them.”

Bay thought of his own mother, and how strange home had seemed after her long sickness and death. It would do the children no good to be closed up with their mother’s grief, and their father’s sharpness. The Duke did not deal gently with loss, even about his own children. He would snap and snarl, and that would be of no help to anyone.

So it was agreed, and that afternoon, he and Rose ventured up to Westfell to seek out the little ones. 

Even though the house was bright in the crisp winter sunlight, there was a pall hanging over it. Every housemaid and servant was aware of little Margot’s condition. Indeed, many believed it would be a mercy for her passing to come sooner rather than later, rather than have the child suffer any longer than she already had.

“The nursery?” Rose murmured.

“Most like,” Bay said just as quietly.

The halls were empty, not a shout or laugh anywhere about. The nursery door was closed, but Bay knew before they opened it that the nursery would be just as grim and silent. He stepped into the room, looking around.

“Millie?” he called softly. “Thomas? Jamie?”

There was a rustle from beneath the bed, then a hand lifted the covers lining the edge and Thomas peered out. He crawled out from under the bed and walked silently to Bay, holding up his arms to him. Bay knelt and gathered his little brother in his embrace.

“I’m here,” he whispered, stroking Thomas’s tangled hair. “Rose and I are here to look after you.”

Thomas’s fingers were wet and warm against the back of his neck, and he held on as if he feared Bay might slip away.

Rose crossed the floor to look under the bed, then glanced at Bay, shaking her head.

“Thomas,” Bay said softly, keeping his voice low. “Do you know where wee Jamie and Millie are?”

Thomas shook his head, his fingers twisting into Bay’s hair. He was trembling, Bay noticed, the feverish shivers of a child trying to contain his tears. Bay gathered him up, still such a small lad, and stroked his back comfortingly.

“We should try Grandmama,” Bay murmured to Rose. “She likely has Jamie.”

The younger of his brothers was indeed with Regina, curled up asleep in her bed, his head resting in the Dowager Duchess’s lap. She looked up when Bay entered, a weary look on her face.

“I hoped your might come soon,” she said, stroking wee Jamie’s hair gently. “Your father said you had plans.”

Bay nodded mutely, his hand resting on Thomas’s back. The boy was quieter now, maybe even asleep, but Bay had no notion to set him down. The child needed comfort, and if being held provided that, then Bay knew he would hold him as long as he was needed.

Rose approached the bed, sitting down on the edge and offering Regina a hand, which was accepted at once.

“How fare matters here?” she asked quietly. “We saw none of the servants abroad.”

“Worse,” Regina said simply. She looked up at Bay. “It will be soon. Isabelle has abandoned sleep entirely.”

“Millie?” Bay said.

“At her mother’s side,” Regina replied. “She will take some persuasion to leave.”

“I do not doubt it,” Bay admitted. “Can you ready a trunk for the little ones? I will go and fetch Millie.” He approached the bed to set Thomas down, though his little brother clung to him. “Hush, wee man,” he murmured, kneeling beside the bed. “You stay with Grandmama and Rose to gather some things to bring to the Bower. We will have you stay there for a little while, hmm?”

Thomas stared at him for a long moment, then nodded, crawling across the bed and into Rose’s lap.

“Be brief,” Rose murmured, stroking Thomas’s hair.

Bay nodded, rising. He made his way through the halls in the direction of the sick room. It was a little used bedchamber which was now occupied by his stepmother. He rapped lightly on the door, opening it a sliver.

“Come,” his father said, his voice roughened with weariness.

Bay slipped into the chamber, his eyes taking a moment to adjust to the dimness. The curtains were drawn, and there was a fire burning in the grate. It was stifling, and the smell of decay was already there.

Mama Belle was lying on the bed, little Margot nested amid a small cocoon of blankets beside her. The child was still as a statue, only the faint stirring of a feather above her lips a sign that she yet lived. His father was seated on a chair by the bed, and Millie sat between his feet on a footstool, sewing with unsteady hands.

The Duke rose from his chair to approach Bay. He was unshaven, and looked like he had taken as little rest as his wife.

“The boys?”

“Grandmama is gathering a trunk with them,” Bay replied quietly. “She does not believe Millie will be willing to come.”

His father looked back over at Millie. “She is adjusting one of her dresses to be a funeral gown,” he said, his voice ragged. “Bay, I cannot have her stay here. This is no place for a little one. If you have to drag her, you have my leave to do so.”

“What of you and Mama Belle?”

His father lifted one hand to rub at his eyes. “We prevail,” he said.

Bay clasped his shoulder, squeezing in silent support. “If there is aught else you need,” he said quietly, “you need only ask.”

His father looked at him then. “Take care of the children until it is done with. There are but days left.”

Bay nodded, then approached the bed. He leaned over to press his lips to Mama Belle’s brow. She barely moved to acknowledge him, nor when he bent and kissed Margot’s hot little forehead.

“Millie,” he murmured, turning to her. “Come with me.”

Millie shook her head. “I-I’m staying to help mama.”

Bay crouched down in front of the footstool and laid his hands on her knees. “Papa is here to help mama,” he said softly, keeping his voice calm and comforting. “But Thomas and wee Jamie are frightened and confused. You were always there with them, Millie, and now you are not. Will you not come with me to look after them?”

His sister’s lip trembled and she dropped the dress she was sewing. She threw her arms around his neck and clung to him fiercely. Bay held her close, murmuring nonsense, and lifted his eyes when his father approached.

The Duke touched Millie’s hair. “Off with you both,” he said quietly. “We’ll take care of Margot and one another.”

“Wait,” Millie whispered, detaching herself from him. She spun around and hugged her father, then hurried to the bed and leaned over to kiss her mother, then her sister. 

Mama Belle lifted her hand to touch Millie’s cheek. “Be good,” she said.

Millie tried to say something, but her voice broke and she turned, hiding her face in Bay’s side. He put his arm around her.

“I’ll take good care of them, Mama,” he promised. 

“I know,” Mama Belle said, so softly that he could barely make out the words.

He and Millie slipped out of the room. Millie drew herself up as tall as she could, but her thin shoulders were shaking. Bay put his arm around her, holding her warmly, as they made their way along the quiet halls.

“Mama is very sad,” she confided in a low, unhappy voice.

“I know,” Bay murmured, “but some matters are in the hands of God alone.”

Millie nodded miserably. “Wee Jamie doesn’t understand,” she said with all the graveness of a woman twice her age.

“No.” Bay didn’t know what to say to comfort her. “He doesn’t.”

“Good.”

They fell into silence as they made their way back to Regina’s chambers. Rose and Thomas were absent.

“I sent one of the men to fetch the trap,” Regina said, rising with wee Jamie in her arms. “He will take you all back to the Bower shortly. Rose and Thomas are gathering some clothing and will meet you on the steps.”

“Do you have anything you want to bring, Millie?” Bay asked. 

Millie hesitated, then nodded. 

Bay put his hand gently between her shoulders. “Run and fetch it, and I shall bring wee Jamie down the stairs.” 

The girl hurried away, and Bay looked at his grandmother.

“Do not ask me, Bay,” Regina said quietly. She did not meet his eyes nor raise her head. “If you ask me, then I shall have to answer, and I have none to give.”

He approached her and put his arms around both her and the child. Even though he still lived so close, he had somehow not noticed how much she had aged in recent days. Her black hair was threaded with silver, the corners of her mouth and eyes webbed with tiny crow’s feet.

“If you wish to come to the Bower also…” he offered quietly.

Regina shook her head, setting Jamie in his arms. The boy murmured drowsily, snuggling against Bay’s chest. “My place is here,” she replied. “Isabelle will have need of someone who understands this manner of loss.”

Bay lowered his eyes. It was something he had not know, the griefs his grandmother had kept a secret until Mama Belle had lost her third child. Regina had not produced an heir for Bay’s grandfather, but that did not mean she had not conceived.

Regina touched his cheek. “If you, help them to smile,” she said when he raised his eyes to her face. She nodded to the door. “They will be waiting.”

The return to the bower was the quietest he had ever heard his siblings. Thomas and Millie sat on either side of Rose, holding her hands, while wee Jamie barely stirred in his arms. He had no notion what to say, nor how best to draw a smile from them. Their expressions did not invite teasing or play.

At the Bower, Mingxu was waiting at the door. She greeted each child solemnly, then offered to show them to their bed chamber, which they would share while they were staying in the Cathkin household. 

“Will Jamie stay with us too?” Thomas asked timidly.

Bay glanced at Rose, who nodded.

“We have arranged the rooms so that Bay can also stay close to,” she said. “There is one large bed for you and Bay has a bed in the chamber beside yours. The door will be open should you need him.”

Thomas sought Millie’s hand and looked up at Bay. “You’ll stay?” he asked, his voice so small and young that Bay’s heart quite broke for him.

“Of course,” he promised. “Come, we should take your brother to your room, and see him safely abed.”

The chambers were little used ones, on the same lever of the house as Rose and Mingxu’s rooms. There was scant furniture, but the children did not need a great deal, and what few playthings they wanted, they had brought with them.

Mingxu and Rose showed them where they might put their trunk when it was brought in, and the door that opened between their room and the small chamber Bay intended to occupy during their stay. The children were silent, save to acknowledge where they would sleep and where they might find their brother.

Bay settled wee Jamie on the far side of the bed, which had been set against the wall, to save him from tumbling off, and drew a sheet upon him. Then, he sat upon the edge of the bed, looking to Millie and Thomas. 

Rose was standing close to the door with Mingxu, her hand resting lightly upon her lover’s back, her expression grave. 

“You both know why your mama and papa asked that you come and stay here,” Bay said, “don’t you?”

Millie nodded. “Margot isn’t going to get better,” she said quietly.

Thomas was shivering, and Bay drew him closer, along with his sister, wrapping his arms close about both of them.

“She will go to be with my first mother very soon,” he said quietly. “It will be very sad, but she is very sick.” Thomas buried his face in Bay’s shoulder, and Millie’s fingers bit into Bay’s back through his coat. He closed his eyes, wishing he could protect him from such things, but life was cruel, and there was little he could do to prevent that. “I must ask you both to be very brave.”

“I don’t want Margot to go,” Millie whispered, her voice cracking. “She is so small! It’s not fair.”

“I know, Millie,” Bay murmured, cradling the back of her head gently in his palm. “But we are all like candle flames. Some of us burn for a long while, and some are just a brief glow, a moment of brightness that will not be forgotten.”

His sister raised her face to his and he was unsurprised to see tears on her cheeks. “I won’t forget her,” she whispered. “I won’t.”

His own eyes pricked with tears. “I know,” he said softly, gathering her close. “None of us shall.”


End file.
